15. Ripley
CHAPTER 15
RIPLEY
.INTOODEEP. – DEAD POET SOCIETY
I cast an apprehensive eye around the deserted loading bay. I’m in my usual spot behind the back of an abandoned storage building, one of many scattered across Harrowdean’s estate. All off-limits, of course.
Elon is late. Every Wednesday morning, we have a standing appointment. He delivers the shit I’ve ordered, then I peddle it to the poor fucks paying top dollar for their personal vices. It’s clockwork. He’s never late.
Sighing, I study the rough gravel surrounding the dock. Sleep has been rough going. Given recent disturbances, the guards have taken to performing hourly checks. Our doors are thrown open, lights blazing and covers ripped back.
It’s just another psychological game. Another tactic. Any way they can dehumanise us further. The ones brave enough to oppose the recent crackdown are being singled out and targeted. Pull a stick out of a bundle, and it’s easier to break, right?
Rumours have been swirling for days about what’s happening beyond Harrowdean’s walls. Our internet access is meagre, but they can’t silence word of mouth. And everyone’s abuzz about Blackwood.
The escaped patients haven’t been caught. More and more fatalities are being confirmed with each passing day too. I heard from someone that bodies are being pulled out of the institute’s ruins by authorities every hour.
Some shit definitely went down. No one knows exactly what, but we will all feel the repercussions if the situation escalates. Secrecy and subterfuge have kept this program intact for decades, and Harrowdean is no friend to the spotlight.
Finally, the crunch of footsteps approaches. I look over my shoulder in time to see Elon arrive, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He glances at the CCTV camera—switched off, naturally—before pinning his sour gaze on me.
“You’re late,” I call out.
He scowls. “You adhere to my schedule, inmate. I’m not your fucking lapdog.”
“Sure. I have nothing better to do than sit here and wait for you.”
Stopping at the edge of the dock, he dumps the backpack. “I am in no mood for your lip today.”
Tempted to poke the bear a little more, I decide to relent. The last thing I want is to pack myself off to solitary again. With the mood management’s been in of late, I doubt it’ll be a fun experience.
After surrendering this week’s cash, I unzip the backpack and take a cursory glance. It’s half-empty. Only a few baggies of the usuals, but none of this week’s special requests. Glancing up, I find Elon even more stony-faced than usual, his grey eyes lit with frustration.
“You’re also light.”
“Deal with it,” he snaps.
“Letting customers down is bad for business. I have orders to fulfil.”
“You think I give a shit?”
Biting my tongue, I rifle through everything, mentally taking stock. This is barely half of the list. I’m going to have a lot of pissed-off patients on my case if I rock up with this load to sell.
“What gives?” I glance at him.
Elon rubs a hand over his cropped hair. “We’re being closely monitored. I have to be cautious.”
“This got something to do with Blackwood?”
Shutters immediately fall over his expression. “Why do you ask?”
“Come on. Everyone knows what’s happening.”
“You don’t know shit, inmate.”
“Who the hell died?” I gesture towards the backpack. “Because this haul is pathetic.”
“The fucking warden did!” he erupts.
Not expecting an honest answer, I reel back. The gossip I’ve heard made it sound like unsuspecting patients lost their lives in whatever chaos engulfed Harrowdean’s sister branch. Not the bloody warden.
“You’re… serious?”
“The entire corporation is under investigation by some fancy assholes from London. All our asses are on the line.”
Holy. Freaking. Shit.
Mind spinning, I try to pin down the ramifications, but I can’t wrap my head around them. How does the perfect business model go so horribly wrong? What kind of courage did it take for patients to take down Blackwood?
“I still need the rest of the items on my list. I have requests to fulfil.”
Towering over me, Elon’s face is a stormy landscape. “Just go out there, do your job and keep your mouth shut. This place is a powder keg. You really wanna be striking that match?”
“Maybe,” I retort without thinking.
He grimaces. “If this shit explodes, we’re all going down with it. You think everyone will just forgive and forget what you’ve done here?”
“I… I haven’t?—”
“Sold drugs? Needles? Knives?” Elon laughs coldly. “How about you tell me why a patient was spotted dangling off the goddamn roof the other morning?”
I duck my gaze. “Not a clue.”
“Your pass was used to unlock the doors. I checked.”
“Nothing to do with me.”
He snorts derisively. “I hear the bastard hauled himself up. Did you even care to check he hadn’t crashed to the ground below?”
I didn’t care to or need to. If Xander had fallen to his death and splatted like a broken egg, it would’ve been big news. And let’s face it, I’m not that fucking lucky. The son of a bitch isn’t that easy to kill.
“You were warned,” Elon continues. “One more slip-up, and it’s night-night for Ripley. You’re on thin ice.”
“Then it’s a good thing he’s alive, isn’t it?”
Done with this pointless conversation, I occupy myself by picking up the backpack and slinging it over my shoulder. The rooftop showdown was reckless, but the psychopath needed a warning. These silent mind games have to stop.
“It doesn’t matter who you’re related to.” Elon turns, calling over his shoulder. “You’re evidence. They’ll dispose of you like the rest of the problems that disappear in here.”
I watch him swagger off with a lead weight curling in my stomach. Less than a year. That’s all I’ve got left. I’ll soon be free to return to my life. I have to survive that long.
But what if it’s true?
What if this crumbling system is going to bury me too?
One hand gripping the strap, I suddenly feel like I’m being crushed by the insubstantial weight of drugs slung over my shoulder. A few handfuls feels like several kilos. I couldn’t begin to guess how much I’ve sold since transferring.
How many overdoses is that?
How many deaths?
All written off as the price of business. Justified. Filed away in the jam-packed drawers I keep in the darkest recesses of my mind. I locked those drawers then set them alight for good measure.
Looking over my shoulder, I check the loading bay one last time. Still empty. Yet it feels like something is snapping at my heels. And I’m not talking about Xander. This is something invisible. Perhaps it’s not even real. But it’s catching up to me nonetheless.
I walk fast, a painfully tight grip on the backpack. It’s still early for deliveries, but the sooner I can offload this shit and hide from the inevitable disgruntlement of those who will go without, the better.
Finding my usual CCTV blind spot, I rest against the tree’s thick trunk and place the backpack at my feet after removing what I need to add to Noah’s stock. It’s taken several weeks to build a decent pile.
I’m deep in thought and attempting to calm myself when the tap, tap, tap of Raine’s approach startles me. He’s wearing different jeans today, these ones boasting a rip in the left knee that adds to his edgy vibe.
“Different shampoo?” he offers in greeting.
Weirdo.
“It’s Rae’s. I’m out.”
Nodding, he continues towards me. “Just don’t change the papaya body wash. I’ll never be able to find you.”
“Good to know. I may need to disappear sometime soon.”
I try for a joke, but the words come out all wrong. Raine’s blonde brows knit together as he reaches for me, snagging my t-shirt’s hem then moving higher to touch my arm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Shit’s going down.” I drop my voice. “I’m missing half my stock, and all the rumours that have been circulating are true.”
“About that riot?”
“Yeah. People are dead.”
Raine curses softly. “That’s fucked up.”
“It’s gonna blow back on Harrowdean soon. Sounds like authorities are involved.”
Humming, he releases me then rolls his guide stick between his hands. “Isn’t that a good thing? The world may actually pay attention to the bullshit that’s under the radar for once.”
How do I tell him that my neck is on the chopping block too? Raine knows what I do. Hell, he buys from me on a weekly basis now. But that doesn’t mean I want to spell it out for him.
“It’ll be alright, Rip.” He tries to comfort me. “No matter what happens.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Worst case scenario, all the institutes are shut down. We can get the fuck out of here.”
“And go where? Somewhere worse?”
“I was thinking somewhere far away from any psych ward or rehab centre. Hell, the fucking wilderness if that’s what it takes.”
Just the thought of him managing in the damn wilderness causes laughter to burst out of me. Raine quickly catches on to my line of thought and joins in.
“Okay, perhaps not a jungle. I need good ground clearance. There’s nothing to trip over on a beach though, right?”
“You’re ridiculous. We’re not going anywhere.”
His shoulders slump. “You are. I’ve got two more years of this.”
My chest spasms at his palpable defeat. His assumption that me getting out first would be an issue is both heart-warming and petrifying. Criminal or not, everyone signs up for the same three years just to get accepted into Harrowdean’s rehabilitative program.
Raine must sense my unease because he quickly drops the subject. “What are you gonna do with this lot, then? You can’t fulfil half their orders and half not.”
“Shift what I can, then haul ass. People will be mad.”
“It’s not your fault everything’s going to shit.”
“But I can’t exactly tell them that, can I? I have appearances to maintain.”
Catching sight of Luka lingering nearby, early like normal, I beckon him over. Raine remains silent as we exchange pills and payment. He shuffles off to gobble his laxatives, and I quickly re-zip the backpack.
“What will you do once you get out?”
Raine fiddles with the nylon strap attached to his stick. “Not a clue.”
“You have a career waiting for you.”
“Pretty sure I drove it off a cliff long before I wound up here. I honestly don’t know what’s waiting for me now.”
I bite back what I want to say. I will be. I’ve known him for little more than a few months and spoken to him for less than that. I don’t know what’s waiting for me either, and I won’t make promises I can’t keep.
“Maybe you’ll need some kind of musician in residence at your studio,” he suggests with a smirk. “Free performances for the lady.”
“If I go back.”
“Where else would you go?” he asks.
I close my eyes, giving myself a brief moment to dream. “Somewhere no one knows my name.”
“You want a fresh start.”
“I want to forget.”
He tilts his head back to rest on the tree. “Does this forgetting plan include erasing me? Your maybe platonic, maybe not, casual hook-up?”
Hesitating, I weigh my response. We haven’t discussed what this is. There’s no formal label and no need to assign one. But I’ve long since discovered that Raine’s confidence conceals bone-deep insecurities. I won’t hurt him with a lie.
“I doubt I could if I tried.”
“I can’t figure out if you’re happy or mad about that,” he admits. “But I’ll take it.”
“Things aren’t so black and white, Raine. You know that. I’m glad you’re here. Isn’t that enough?”
“It’ll always be enough, guava girl. I just…” He trails off with a sigh. “I just wanna know if this means something to you too.”
Turning to face him, I ball the fabric of his shirt in my hand and pull him close. The cool surface of his blacked-out lenses touches my face as my lips peck his.
I’m shitty at this emotional stuff. Any ability I had to be vulnerable was long ago wiped out. But with Raine, when the jokes fall flat and we both turn serious, I want to try. I know he needs that reassurance.
Maybe I do too.
We’re both just afraid.
“This means something to me,” I murmur.
“Entertainment?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to blow smoke up your ass. But you were pretty good.”
He guffaws. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”
The tension broken, I toy with this t-shirt.
“So… round two?”
“Aren’t you working?”
“Self-employed,” I joke.
“Well, fuck. Little Miss Entrepreneur. Anyone ever tell you how sexy that is?”
“Surprisingly not.”
Several raised voices interrupt our banter. I cast a subtle glance over my shoulder and groan. Rick and a handful of his friends are wandering closer, exchanging heated, angry whispers. Yeah, no thanks.
“Come on.” I release Raine and grab the backpack. “We’ve got company.”
He cocks his head slightly. “Is it that asshole?”
“Rick. Five others too.”
His hand clenches tight around mine as soon as I seize it. Raine’s stick swings from side to side, but he lets me steer our path away from my delivery point and deeper into the institute’s grounds.
At this hour, most patients are in classes, therapy or sleeping. Guards are peppered around, though. I try to ignore the prickle of unease I feel as Rick and his entourage remain on our tail.
“They’re following,” Raine mumbles.
“I know. Keep walking.”
“Oi! Freaks!” One heckles.
Fingers tightening on Raine’s hand, I attempt to slow down to clap back at the son of a bitch, but he tugs me onwards to keep walking.
“Don’t bite back.”
“But—”
“Rip,” Raine warns. “There are six of them.”
“So? What do you think they’ll do?”
“I don’t fancy finding out. Do you?”
Relenting, we continue walking. Our pace slowly increases, passing the red-brick exterior of the west wing. Shit. It’s quieter at this end of the grounds. No guards to stop Rick if he decides to pounce. The library isn’t far from here, but it’s often deserted.
“Where are we?” Raine asks.
“Near the library.”
“Is there a door leading inside?”
“Yeah.” I pull Raine to the right. “But it’s around the other side.”
Their footsteps are still following. I hate giving the impression that we’re afraid, but if Raine doesn’t want drama, I’ll attempt to keep myself leashed. If I were alone, I wouldn’t be so restrained.
“We want to fucking talk to you!”
I recognise Owen’s voice. He’s a bulky, obsessive compulsive from the fifth floor. A recent addition to Rick’s little gang and desperate to prove his worth. I’m sure he’d benefit from a good punching.
With the rear door to the library in sight, we’re almost there when the first hands reach us. Raine is ripped away from me as someone’s arms band around my middle, causing me to drop the backpack.
“Get off!” I shout.
“Voice down, Ripley.”
Fucking Rick.
Owen and some other sneering dickhead whose name I haven’t cared to memorise have hold of Raine. They kick his guide stick aside then hold an arm each, keeping him trapped in place. All while he curses and fights against them to no avail.
Rick’s strong arms around my waist hold me against his chest. “It’s rude to ignore people.”
His breath is hot in my ear, making my skin crawl. I haven’t sold cigarettes to him for a while now. His breath has certainly benefited from the detox.
“You think I give a shit about hurt feelings?”
“Come on, Rip. I wanna have a little chat with you.”
Two of his friends go ahead, holding the doors to the library open so they can wrestle us inside. My heart sinks when I see that Linda, the on-site librarian, isn’t at her desk like usual. Must be her lunch break.
“Get out!” Rick roars.
The handful of patients browsing the towering rows of books scatter.
“Go watch the doors,” he barks at his two pals. “Don’t let anyone in.”
They dispatch to follow his command. Raine thrashes, trying to peel Owen’s hands off, but his arms are wrenched backwards to hold him prone.
“Here’s how this is going to work.” Rick’s hips press into me from behind. “Tell us a lie, and we’ll fuck with your new boyfriend. Got it?”
Oh, hell no.
Desperately wishing that Raine could see the pointed look I want to give him, I force a nonchalant voice. I can’t let them have this leverage over me.
“Do what you want to him. He’s worthless to me.”
“Is that so?” Rick chuckles in amusement. “You won’t mind if we test that theory, then.”
Drawing back a cocked first, Owen slams it into Raine’s midsection. Air whooshes out his mouth as he doubles over, coughing and spluttering.
I grit my teeth. “Test away.”
“Damn, bitch. You’re cold. Hit him again.”
This time, the other dickhead punches him square in the face. I wince at the sound of Raine’s glasses cracking and flying off his face. Blood spills from the corner of his mouth as his eyes are unveiled.
Owen leans closer to get a good look. “Huh. Figured you’d have some ugly, gaping holes beneath those things.”
“Fuck you,” Raine spits.
Punching him in the gut again, a thick globule of blood flies from Raine’s mouth. His breathing is laboured through the pain, teeth bared and spine curved to absorb each hit.
“Still nothing?” Rick taunts. “Alright then. Again.”
It’s the brief flash of fear on Raine’s face that breaks my resolve. Before Owen’s fist can crush his nose, I scream out.
“Wait!”
Chuckling again, Rick squeezes my waist. “There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Leave him alone, for fuck’s sake. What do you want from me?”
“I want to know where Carlos is.”
Laughter rips free. “Seriously? All this for that idiot?”
“Hit him,” Rick instructs.
Owen slams his fist into Raine’s face again. Blood explodes from his nose and mouth, the crimson splatter staining his golden hair red. I battle harder against Rick’s restraint.
“You asshole!”
“Watch your damn mouth, then. Where is Carlos?”
“How the hell should I know?” I yell in panic.
“You’re Harrowdean’s whore. Don’t pretend like you don’t know.”
“I have no idea!”
“Another lie. Again.”
This time, it’s a throat punch. Owen releases Raine’s arm as his friend does the deed, leaving Raine to crumple, his knees hitting the polished parquet floor. The strangled gasp coming from his throat makes me see red.
“I’ll rip you apart for hurting him!” I scream.
“Where is Carlos?” Rick asks calmly.
“I told you that I don’t know!”
He sighs, the stickiness of his breath stirring my hair. “Perhaps you need a different motivation. Selfish cunts can’t be controlled by hurting others, right?”
Raine tries to sit up at that, but Owen draws back his foot and boots him firmly in the kidney. He lands flat on his back, unable to contain his heart-rending howl. There’s blood splattered all over him.
“Ease off,” Rick drones. “Come hold the bitch down. Watch him, Ant.”
Stomping and kicking, I do my best to break free as I’m forced to the floor. Owen positions himself over me, seizing my wrists then stretching them high so I’m pinned with my arms above my head.
Taking the lower half of my body, Rick casts an eye over my predicament. He looks far too fucking smug. When he gets close enough, I quickly snap out my leg and kick him right in the face.
“Ow!” he screeches.
Removing his hand from his face, I’m awarded with the sight of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Damn, I got him good. He moves to sit on my legs, his disgusting weight bearing down on me.
“That wasn’t very nice, Rip.”
“I don’t know where Carlos is!”
Rick shakes his head, now straddling my thighs. “He steps one foot out of line, and he’s gone. No parents or siblings to worry about him. Just us. Convenient, huh?”
“He was probably transferred or some shit!”
“You think I’m fucking stupid?”
Striking me hard, the hit causes my head to snap to the side. I feel my lip split and blood begin to ooze from the stinging cut.
“Where is he?”
When I don’t respond, he repeats the same move. My neck and head ache as I blink back tears. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna give him shit, though. His friend is probably dead.
“How do you live with yourself, huh?” he seethes. “Selling for the goddamn enemy?”
“Wait—”
“You make me sick.”
Raine’s distant shouting doesn’t stop Rick from striking again. Again. Again. Each hit harder than the last. Slaps turn to punches until I can feel the blood drenching my battered face. Everything is spinning and ticking.
“Stop it!” Raine yells. “She doesn’t know!”
“Bullshit,” Rick rages.
Boneless, I cough up blood. “Probably dead.”
His next blow halts. “What was that?”
“They just… remove troublemakers. He’d be easy to erase.”
The festering fury in Rick’s eyes amplifies. Owen holds my wrists tight as he grabs my jaw, his grip bruising, causing teeth and bone to creak like old wooden beams. I’m surprised nothing has broken yet.
“Where do they take them? The people they want to erase?”
It isn’t worth my life to reveal that information. Of the tiny minority who know about the Z wing, no one knows its location. Only me. If I reveal it, I’ll face a far worse fate than this.
“Don’t know.”
“Liar!” He squeezes my jaw hard enough to grind. “Where?”
“Don’t… know!”
“You’re lying!”
Releasing my jaw, he takes my wrist from Owen. I try to scratch him, but Rick slams it on the floor to hold me still. His spare hand grasps my index finger tight.
“I’ve spent the last year watching you swan around this place like you own it. Hurting people. Mouthing off. Throwing your weight around. I know you’re a lying piece of shit.”
My gut boils with anger. Everything he hates about me is everything I fucking hate about me. And I don’t care how mad it’ll make him, I want him to pay for voicing my biggest shames out loud.
“Even if I knew where he is… I wouldn’t tell you.” I lick warm blood from my mouth. “Imagine what they’re doing to him right now.”
“Rip,” Raine hisses.
“You wanna know what they do to disposable patients?” I continue regardless of the possible consequences. “Your stupid friend won’t even know his own name by the time they’re done.”
I know I’m in for a world of pain when Rick begins to overextend my finger joint. He forcefully pulls until I feel something pop, followed by a sharp, intense burning that sets my whole left hand alight.
“You will tell me,” he orders through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll dislocate every single finger you have.”
“Do it! I don’t care!”
Moving on to the next finger, he wrenches it from the socket with a low growl. The pain is even more intense. This time, I can’t hold back a wail. It feels like my fingers are being dipped in acid and corroded down to the bone.
“Shut her up,” Rick barks at his friend. “We don’t need company.”
Clamping his sweaty palm over my mouth, Owen silences my cries. I continue to shriek into his damp skin as Rick dislocates two more fingers, each wrenching motion as merciless as the last.
Raine’s yelling and frantic battling to escape barely register. He’s still being held down, unable to throw his captor off in his weakened state. All I can feel is the steady pounding in my burning hand.
“Well?” Rick prompts.
Owen lifts his hand from my mouth long enough for me to respond. I pant roughly, my entire body slick with sweat and trembling all over.
“I h-hope you never find him.”
“You stupid, stupid cunt.”
Smiling through the pain, I scream myself hoarse when he moves to the last victim—my thumb. It’s snapped out of place with a sick clicking sound. But Rick doesn’t seem in the least bit satisfied by my escaping sobs.
“Maybe we should do him again?” Owen nods to Raine.
“I want the little bitch to hurt, not him!”
“Just an idea, man.”
“Well I have a better one.”
Reaching around the back of his waist, Rick tugs something free from his jeans. A switchblade, not unlike the one I stabbed him with, reveals itself with a distinctive flicking sound.
“It took eight stitches to patch me up after our last tangle.” Rick studies the glinting blade. “So I owe you at least double that, right?”
Raine must clock the soft flick of the blade unlatching because he goes wild. Bucking. Bellowing. Promising death. Ant—the other dickhead—grabs a handful of his sandy locks and slams his skull into the floor with a crack.
He goes limp, limbs splayed and mouth lolling open. With that distraction taken care of, Rick kneels on my wrist and shoves the sleeve of my long t-shirt up past my elbow, despite my vicious cursing.
He holds the blade poised between his fingers. The curved tip almost resembles the bristles of my paintbrush, I think distantly. But I’m not the manipulator behind it this time. Pain is going to be inflicted on the canvas of my body instead.
“Hold her. I need to get close.”
Owen places his hand on my mouth again then clamps the other one on my shoulder to stop me from struggling. I shout behind his gag as Rick leans closer, inspecting the intricate ribbons of inked vines wrapped around my forearm.
“Damn. These are good.” He runs a finger over the painstakingly realistic tattoo. “Almost a shame to ruin it.”
When the tip of the blade presses into my elbow crease, I feel a piece of me shatter. Something internal. Irreversible. A part of me I never thought I’d have to lose. Confirming that nothing stays safe forever.
The blade slices in deep, precise slashes. I can feel letters being carved into my skin. Each scrawled letter is a white-hot poker on my skin. When he curves the blade to cut each swoop and twist, my frantic cries die out.
“Fucking hell,” Owen mutters in disgust. “That’s sick.”
“Shut up,” Rick snaps. “She deserves this!”
“I dunno, dude. This is fucked up.”
Frowning hard in concentration, Rick curses when his hand slips. My throat is too raw to wail at the sudden stabbing sensation of the switchblade sliding in too deep. He blanches when he realises his mistake.
Owen leans down to look. “Is it meant to bleed that much?”
“I fucking slipped.”
“I didn’t sign up for this shit!”
“She isn’t gonna die, asshole! Shut up already.”
Warmth trickles down my arm. I can feel a pool gathering. A twisted part of me wants to drag this out for as long as possible—without medical attention soon, I’ll bleed out. That’s freedom, right?
No.
I didn’t come this far just to die at the hands of some power-tripping son of a bitch. If nothing else, the horror show I’ve created here must amount to more than that.
I won’t die on the library floor. Even if this brings the wrath of Harrowdean’s management raining down on me, at least I can accept that fate and go down swinging. Letting Rick bleed me out will be far more pathetic.
Mumbling weakly behind Owen’s hand, it takes him a moment to notice. When he does, he grumbles for Rick’s attention and releases my mouth once more.
“Yes?” Rick cocks a brow.
“K-Kingsman.”
“What?”
“The disused dorms… B-Behind the storage buildings. Go to the basement.”
“Carlos is there?”
“If… he’s alive.”
Triumphant, he nods at Owen. “Go get the others.”
I’m quickly released. Relief is a misty cloud sinking into my pores, but it’s short-lived. With Raine beginning to stir, Rick pinches his chin, considering me for a moment longer.
“You should’ve started with that.”
Returning his blade to my flesh, he resumes carving, this time careless and hurried. There must be a final reservoir of adrenaline left inside me because I manage a choked screech as he completes his work.
The sound of my agony rouses Raine from his semi-awake daze. Lifting a hand to his head, he groans in pain. Ant doesn’t bother knocking him out again. They already got what they wanted.
Owen returns with the two others. “Let’s move!”
“Almost done,” Rick murmurs.
With a final, few flicks, his artwork is complete. He wipes the blade off on my t-shirt then closes it, staring down at my arm with a weird look of pride.
“You’ll never forget this place now, Ripley. No matter how far you run. I hope the memory of the evil you’ve inflicted follows you to your deathbed.”
With that parting shot, he stands and follows his grunts out. None of them spare us a second glance. I don’t bother to warn them about the impenetrable layers of security they’ll face. No one enters the Z wing. Not successfully. But more importantly, no one gets out. If their asshole friend is down there, it’s a suicide mission to even attempt to find him.
“Ripley?” Raine grunts.
I can’t move my lips or tongue to respond. Everything is heavy. Numb. Powering down. All I can feel is the expanding puddle of blood growing around me from whatever the fuck Rick’s nicked.
“Jesus… I can smell your blood. Where are you?”
Manoeuvring himself up, he resorts to haphazard crawl. His head collides with several bookcases before he touches the slick, warm trail of blood leading back to me. All I can summon is a whimper.
“Fuck! Rip, stay with me.”
Raine collapses next to me, desperately feeling his way over my limbs.
“Where are you bleeding?”
It takes all my energy to prise my lips apart. “Arm.”
Still cursing, he locates the mess that Rick’s made and applies pressure. The weight of him pressing down on my shredded skin feels like live electrodes have been wired into my nerve cells and set to fucking vibrate.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he chants. “Forgive me, babe.”
“S-Stop…”
“I can’t, Rip. You’ve lost too much blood. Did he hit a damn vein?”
I’m so cold. Exhausted. My eyes feel far too weighty to bother trying to hold them open. When I don’t respond, Raine presses down harder on my wounds, causing my spine to arch as I screech hoarsely.
“Stay awake! Please!”
Eyes blurred with coursing tears, I watch him fumble to pull off his shirt. I get a glance of my arm before he quickly wraps it up and ties the shirt as tight as possible, freeing up his hands to locate his phone.
It’s a slightly chunkier smartphone with a tinny voice that speaks to him each time he presses the screen. I remember the laughter we shared the first time I saw him use it. The voice’s faux-British accent is ridiculous.
Scrolling through his contacts, the limited list of names are read aloud. I want to scream no at the name he lands on. I don’t want him to see me like this. Let alone someone far, far worse.
The line quickly connects.
“What, Raine?”
“Library. Bring medical help.”
“Code red?”
“Just hurry.”
There’s a growling curse.
“We’re coming.”
Dropping the phone, Raine quickly shifts his attention back to me. Even through my fuzzy vision, I can see those limitless, maple pools darting around. His face is already swelling beneath the fresh blood and bruises.
“I d-didn’t mean it,” I struggle out.
“Mean what?”
“What I told them… You’re not worthless.”
He looks stricken, his frown lines pronounced and toffee eyes watering. “I couldn’t protect you. If I could see?—”
“No. Not your fault.”
“But—”
“No.”
The sound of incoming shouting reaches us. Thudding footsteps. Several guards, no doubt. Raine doesn’t stop holding pressure on my arm, though he looks ready to keel over himself.
Everything fades out in the flurry of noise. I feel Raine being pulled away from me and replaced by someone else. Questions are barked. That familiar, sonorous voice sounds even angrier than usual. Now there’s an achievement.
“Who the fuck did this?”
“I’m fine, Nox. I need to help Ripley!”
“Forget her! She deserves this.”
“She’s bleeding!” Raine shouts loudly. “You can’t?—”
There’s a scuffle. More pained moaning. Through slitted eyes, I can see Raine clutching his head, like he tried to struggle but couldn’t escape the muscled boulder pulling him from my side.
Lennox actually spares me an uncertain glance. Our eyes meet, hazel on seafoam. Hatred on disdain. Only neither of us can muster either emotion in the midst of such destructive violence.
The evil bastard should be enjoying the satisfaction right now. But instead, he looks physically sick as he studies my bruises, swelling and finally, my haphazardly bandaged forearm that’s steadily leaking blood.
“Fuck,” he splutters. “Xan?”
“Yeah. I’ve got her.”
Kneeling in my blood, I can just about distinguish Xander’s spearmint scent in the copper-laced air. A pair of scarred arms slide beneath me and lift, half-pulling me against his body.
My head is cradled in his lap. I have no choice but to stare straight up into those midnight globes, filled with endless nothingness. The dark-blue hue is a mere breath away from murderous black right now.
“Who did this to you?” he whispers in a dangerously low voice.
“Why… do you… care?”
Those terrifying, onyx eyes catch on my dislocated fingers. I watch his throat bob up and down. Jaw muscles tightening. So many silent tells told in the smallest of reactions. Xander can’t strangle all his emotions.
“Hold still,” he orders.
Picking up my hand, Xander studies each traumatised joint in a clinical way. Cataloguing and assessing. I don’t have time to wonder how he knows what to do with them.
“Breathe in.”
He swiftly clicks the first finger back into place. The pain is intense but short-lived. Numbness resurfaces, filling me instead. It seems I’ve reached my threshold for the time being.
Xander is unperturbed by each swollen, misshapen finger he finds. Not even blinking, he deftly shifts them back into place, working efficiently despite my continued whimpers. Only experience can teach that perfect motion.
“This must make you h-happy.”
His eyebrows knit together as he works. “Do I look happy?”
No. He doesn’t.
Not even a little bit.
With more voices arriving all around us, I break eye contact with the devil watching over me. I don’t need him to see my humiliation as the final chunk in the dam holding my emotions at bay breaks.
Xander’s grip tautens when a sob bursts from my chest, though it sounds weak and lacklustre. He’s holding me so tight; it feels like he’s trying to stop me from slipping from his grasp and drowning.
I know what mess now decorates my body. I caught that brief glimpse. The scribbled craftsmanship inked in my own blood. Disfiguring my tattoos with the path of his blade. Rick left me a message.
Harrowdean’s whore.